


they were kids that i once knew

by wtfoctagon



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Patch 5.4: Futures Rewritten Spoilers, Shadowbringers Role Quests (Final Fantasy XIV), e10 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfoctagon/pseuds/wtfoctagon
Summary: It’s just the two of them, the dying embers, and the suffocating absence of their friends. Though, that’s hardly fair for Ardbert to complain about, is it? As far as Cylva knows, he’s gone too, leaving nothing but a bleached out void in his wake. Two ghosts, both doomed to wander the ruins of the world— but at least he can still see her.“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says, slinging his arm over his knee. “In a way, you were— you were trying to save us too, right?"//After the flood of light, Ardbert finds Cylva. She's the only one who would understand, in the end; if only she could hear him.
Relationships: Ardbert & Cylva (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 20





	they were kids that i once knew

**Author's Note:**

> title from Dead Hearts by Stars. 
> 
> Ardbert/Sylva if you want it to be - it's not intentional as I don't ship them myself, but I'm incapable of writing about women without sounding a little in love with them, so. 
> 
> MAJOR spoilers, obviously. Do not proceed if you haven't done the role quests yet unless you mind being spoiled!

It’s just like old times. Sort of, anyway.

They’re dirty, bruised, exhausted, sitting across from each other around a dying campfire— weapons bloodied and holstered, spirits dampened by the night.

Except, there is no night— just that infernal light in the sky, the ruined buildings around them, and silence. None of Lamitt and Branden’s usual bickering over how much spice to put in their dinner, nor Nyelbert’s complaints about Renda-Rae, nor her retaliatory remarks shot with a sharp smile. 

It’s just the two of them, the dying embers, and the suffocating absence of their friends. 

Though, that’s hardly fair for Ardbert to complain about, is it? As far as Cylva knows, he’s gone too, leaving nothing but a bleached out void in his wake. Two ghosts, both doomed to wander the ruins of the world— but at least he can still see _her._

“I don’t blame you, you know,” he says, slinging his arm over his knee. “In a way, you were— you were trying to save us too, right? Better to be rejoined— or whatever the hells it’s called— and be born again than be erased.” He scoffs. “I went and did the same things as you, in the end.”

Left his body behind, went to another world as an emissary of darkness, purposely causing destruction for the lie of a greater good told to them by the ascians— he’s hardly in any position to judge her. 

Yes, maybe he’s still a little angry. Still a little hurt. He trusted her, after all— with his life, and more. But he doesn’t hate her the way she planned for him to. He can’t. He’s never been able to look at her and see the Shadowkeeper, even when she was wearing the armor and baring her blade against them— he looks at her, and he sees… Cylva. 

Calm, collected Cylva— stalwart in battle, unshakeable, a little brusque at times; the constant voice of reason, shouldering the duties that demanded more from them than their hearts could bear. Cylva, who spoke less the more at ease she was— polishing her shield by the fireside and smiling warmly whenever Renda leaned over to make some crass remark, or adding the finishing touches to their food while Branden and Lamitt argued just barely short of a full-on brawl, or— or—

Gods. He misses them. He misses them all, so— _so_ much. Even Cylva, even though she’s sitting right in front of him, because—

He looks at her staring past the flickering embers— at her sallow cheeks, ashen skin, the shadows threatening to cave in on her eyes that once crinkled with laughter and burgeoning grins. 

In a way, she’s gone too. 

“At least you cared,” he croaks, choking on his own words. “I was so ready to— to strike down anyone and everyone in my way. But you were different. You wanted to save us. I could tell.”

Because— while _he_ was out there, butchering his way through the source in a last bid attempt to save his world, she had already lost hers. She had already lost hers, and there was no reason for her to try and save this one, and yet— she did. 

He wonders— if she hadn’t held back her strength, stopped her claws just short of tearing too deep, would she have been able to do it? If she had let her teeth sink all the way into their flesh, let her sword carve into their bones, would she have been able to save the world?

(Wouldn’t that have been for the best, in the end?)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything.”

Her face crumples at that and for one, glorious moment, he thinks maybe, just maybe, she can hear him, she can _see_ him. 

“I should have died with you,” she murmurs, the words just barely tearing past her throat. “You should have let me die with you.”

(Two ghosts. The ones left behind, destined to always remember.)

She brings a hand up to her face, grimacing into her palm as tears start streaming down her cheeks— and _gods_ he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry before. He always thought her to be made of steel— her hair and eyes and armor glinting in the sunlight— but not like this. Not like this, not her buckling into herself in short, sharp movements, her other arm collapsing against her torso before being crushed between her legs and stomach. Not like this; stiff and strained and struggling to breathe. 

“Cylva...”

He shuffles closer and reaches out for her shaking frame to pry her face away from her greaves and hold her to his chest instead and just as he closes his fingers around her pauldron he passes right through.

Of course. Of course. 

Why did he expect any different? When had the world ever been kind?

He can not hold her. He can not comfort her, nor stand with her through the grief— he cannot make her look into his eyes as he tells her that she is _forgiven,_ because he is gone. He’s gone. He’s gone, and so is Lamitt, so is Renda, and Branden and Nyelbert and she— 

She is the only one left. 

The lone shadow weeps, silent save for the plates of her bloodied armor keening against each other as she tries to crush herself into nothingness amidst the light-bleached bones of the world she tried to save. 

(But he’s gone, and there’s nothing he can do for her anymore.)

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I wouldn't fall for another Elezen after Ysayle but here I am, I guess. [honks my clown nose for sexy werewolf anti-hero elf]


End file.
